


An Art To Life’s Distractions

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Davey is polish, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly-centric, Depression, Hispanic Jack Kelly, M/M, Modern Era, Mom Friend David Jacobs, My First Work in This Fandom, Sad Jack Kelly, depressive episodes suck, its not mentioned but jack is hispanic :D, other characters are mentioned!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jack has been going through a depressive episode and Davey helps him out a little bit.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	An Art To Life’s Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> jack’s depressive episodes are based off of my own, and i specifically made it to where davey isn’t a hero in this. hope this is decently accurate lol

Jack Kelly wasn’t healthy.

Not as in “I’ve got health issues and might drop dead if I don’t take an EpiPen,” definitely not. “My own mind hates me and I struggle with it daily,” that’s more of what it was.

Most of his days were spent in his room, not moving. On the few days he got the motivation to get up, he would paint or draw, the only thing that he still had passion in being an easy escape.

Burning fire, the night sky, random splotches of color, swirls of green and blue and white everywhere. He painted whatever he wanted. It was nice to have control over something.

He hadn’t checked his phone in three weeks, only sending a text to each of his friends to signify that he was alive. They didn’t need to worry about him. They had college. All he had was his paintbrush and his small apartment. He could still paint, meaning he still made money from commissions. It was fine.

He was fine.

Jack hadn’t seen any of his friends in around a month, not caring to see them either. He didn’t want them to see him like this, all sad and confused about everything around him. He didn’t need their pity. All he needed were his brushes. 

As Jack’s hand tightly gripped his paintbrush and dipped it in a new color (a shade of blue, cerulean), he heard a knock on his door. His eyes widened, not having heard a knock in so long due to isolation. He placed his paintbrush on the paper plate beside him, not caring to change his appearance that clearly looked concerning.

As Jack opened the door, he heard a familiar voice began to speak.

“Oh, thank god, I thought you were actually de-... Jackie?”

Jack’s half asleep mind noted that the voice was Davey’s, the taller man standing in front of him with a look of shock and pity on his face. The one man he didn’t want to see. A man he somehow couldn’t get over, even after isolating himself for a month. He still found stupid things he knew he related to Davey throughout the house. The shade of blue he painted with so often, the landscapes of Santa Fe in shades of Davey’s clothing, the idiotic way he would stare at a letter from Davey (they wrote letters to each other in high school) on his wall.

Pity. He’s pitying you. Pity, pity, pity, pitypitypity-

“Jackie, when’s the last time you ate properly? Or showered?” Davey commented softly, stepping inside as he placed his messenger bag on Jack’s small (dusty) kitchen counter. Jack stood still, processing the words carefully. He hadn’t talked to anybody in weeks, how did you have conversations properly?

“I showered four days ago. I haven’t eaten in two days,” he deadpanned, causing Davey’s mouth to drop open slightly.

“Jesus christ, Jackie,” Davey muttered, his face screwing into one of sadness, his blue eyes staring at him with a look of broken glass. Jack’s heart sank, but he couldn’t find the energy to express so.

“Okay, I’ll make some food or something. Can you shower? Well, do you have the energy?” Davey commented softly, opening Jack’s (mostly empty) cabinets. Jack heard Davey mumbling about needing to buy groceries, Jack finally squeezing out a tiny ‘yes’ in response to Davey’s question.

Davey’s head snapped towards him, a tiny smile appearing on his face. “I’ll get pajamas. You go shower. I’ll turn on a movie or something.” 

Jack gave another nod, half-dragging himself to the bathroom. He felt like he was being treated like a child, but at the same time, it felt kind of nice. It felt nice to have someone really care.

As Jack felt cold water hit his body, he watched the water turn different colors from the paint on his hands and lower arms, the water also being slightly brown from the paint that had caked up in his hair. As he sat on the shower floor, he scrubbed his body slowly, too tired to take an actual quick shower.

After somewhere around an hour, Jack finally felt okay to stand up, turning of the water and drying his body of with the dark green towel under his bathroom cabinet. He looked at the pajamas Davey had placed on the counter. A pair of boxers, blue and black plaid pants, and a baggy t-shirt that had Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” on the front. 

His lips smiled for the first time in a month.

Jack put on the clothes, not bothering to dry his hair as he stumbled, barefoot, onto the hardwood flooring of the tiny hallway in his apartment. He was greeted by Davey unloading a few bags (grocery bags?) into his cabinets and fridge, as well as the TV playing the movie “Tangled.” Davey’s eyes drifted over to Jack, a tiny smile appearing on the dark, wavy-haired boy’s face.

“While you were in there, I went and got groceries. Are you okay with that lemon pepper chicken that Race makes? Mine probably won’t be as good, but, hey, it’s the thought that counts,” Davey joked, making Jack snort and nod as Davey began to pour the ingredients for the batter into a bowl.

“I’m sorry,” Jack suddenly said, shocking himself and Davey.

“What are you sorry for? I don’t mind cooking for you, Jack.”

“I’m sorry you have to see me like...” Jack gestured to himself, as if to finish the sentence. Davey’s eyes looked away from the batter in front of him, quickly wiping his hands on a paper towel and then walking over to Jack.

“Jackie,” Davey placed a hand on the slightly shorter man’s cheek, the other going to his hips, “I don’t care. Specs and Spot both have times when they can barely get up and do anything. I’m not going to hate you, moja miłość.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed at the unfamiliar Polish, but he leaned his head on Davey’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around the taller’s waist, feeling properly calm for the first time in a while.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jack quickly sighed out, Davey’s hands beginning to rub circles on his back.

“It’s fine, Jackie. Now let me go so I can fix you some actual food,” Davey muttered into his ear, causing Jack to let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh. 

“But you smell nice...” Jack said, tightening his grip around the other’s waist.

“You know what will smell good? Actual food,” Davey said, hearing Jack whine as he pulled away. “Go take a nap, please. You look like you haven’t slept in five years. This will take about an hour to make, I’ll wake you up when it’s done.”

“Fine, fine, okay,” Jack mumbled, walking over to his couch and pulling an old, soft blanket from the top of it as he finally laid down properly for the first time in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> please point out spelling errors if there are any!


End file.
